Finding A Place Next To You
by HopeIsHere16
Summary: Some things never change. Even after the fiery destruction of the Opera Populaire, its resident Opera Ghost is finding it strangely difficult to move on. Only the return of the beautiful Christine Daae could snap the thought-to-be-dead Phantom back into reality. E/C
1. Missing the Music of the Night

**Finding A Place Next To You**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom :(**

**A/N: I am so nervous right now. This is the first time I have ****_ever _****tried to write for Phantom. I adore the movie, and have had this idea stuck in my head for quite a while, though, so I hope you enjoy it :) And - as I've sadly never had the opportunity to see this wonderful show performed - this story will be strictly movie based. And, I mean, let's face it - Gerard Butler as the Phantom was...awesome. Thanks for reading!**

**Length & Updating: So I'm going to try to make these chapters as long as possible (this ****_will _****be a multi-chap!) and I'm going to focus on this story right now, rather than my two HP ones. Unfortunately, I have a busy schedule (class, work, teams and such, etc.) so updating is hardly ever regular. But I'll try to make it happen about once a week :) Oh, and I'm going to put A/N's and such at the bottom of every chapter, but the disclaimer at the top is for the entire story - I don't own Phantom or any of its music :) Thanks!**

**Final note: For any new readers, please note that the "Introduction"'s writing style is _not _the way that the entire story is written - it's an explanatory several paragraphs just to catch everyone up...in fact, it's not even neccessary to read it if you already know what's going on. Okay - enjoy!**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

_"What grieves you, child?" _

_"T-They don't understand you, Angel! They think I'm m-making you up!" _

_"It matters not what those immature_ brats_ think. You believe in me, and that is all that matters." _

_"But I have to live with them, Angel of Music. And when you're a fifteen year old girl, it's hard to go on with only one or two friends. I only wish they didn't hate me so." _

_"Anyone who could _ever _hate you is undeserving of the kindness and friendship you wish to show them." _

_"That doesn't make it any easier." _

_"I'm here to listen to you, Christine. To guide you as well as to know you. Your father sent me to do more than just teach you to sing."_

_"You're the only one who cares, Angel. I wish I could see you for real. Then you could hug me like my father used to and everything would be alright no matter what." _

_"I care for you very much, Christine. More than you know." _

* * *

Introduction

* * *

It took seven months after the disaster at the Opera Populaire before Christine Daae could stand even to be near it. The large, pristine building held far too many memories for her taste - some memories that she would rather have kept locked away. It had been amazing how quickly her home and safe haven had turned into a prison. Back when things had been simple...back when all Christine had had to worry about were the other girls thinking she was strange...she could have just gone to her Angel of Music. Ten minutes of praying to him from the small chapel within the Opera could have mended the wounds inflicted on her heart by the careless words of petty, jealous girls. But then it had all changed.

When Christine's idol, her Angel of Music, had shown himself to her in jealousy, she had realized what part of her had known all along; her angel loved her, and she him. He was a man, a tangible human being, and she had forgotten her childhood sweetheart, Raoul, almost completely. His affections paled in comparison to the love bestowed upon her by her Angel of Music. But then she'd had to be cruelly reminded that her friend, her idol, her _teacher_, was not _just _the Angel of Music - he was also the Phantom of the Opera.

Christine had broken the heart of her Angel and Phantom. She had shattered the already broken man into a thousand pieces. And then, in the fire that had destroyed most of the home Christine had come to know for twelve years, she had lost nearly everything.

The flames had licked away Christine's home, her place of work, her passion, and her pride. But they had also consumed her teacher, her friend, her idol, her confidant, her Angel, her Phantom, and the music of the night.

The headlines had been excited about the news, of course. The constant in-your-face front page photographs of the Opera eventually became so overbearing that Christine no longer read the news.

**The Phantom of the Opera Is Dead**

**Those Who Attend Shows At The Opera Populaire Need No Longer Fear**

**The Opera Ghost Is Just a Memory**

Christine had lost her grip on who she was. She'd had no home, no coworkers, no music, and no Angel. She could not bear to look into the eyes of the man she had thought she loved, and she had told him so to his face shortly after the first headline about her Angel had arisen. She would be the friend of her dear Raoul, but could give him nothing more than friendship. He had taken it hard at first, as she had expected he would, but his heart had eventually healed enough that he had accepted her offer of friendship.

Work to restore the Opera had begun immediately, and those in charge of its maintenance had told all of Paris that the Opera Populaire was a very lucky structure indeed. The fire had mostly only destroyed the stage and the seats up to the balcony - the dormitories, basement, and dressing rooms were still in fine condition. The building was still completely intact, and it would only take three months to finish the work that needed to be finished. Everyone had been ecstatic that they would not have to wait too long before everything could go back to the way it was.

But Christine had stayed away when the Opera had begun their rehearsals. Madame and Meg Giry, Christine's only true semblance of a family, had questioned her continuously about when she would return, but she did not let their persistance sway her decision to take her time getting ready to go back.

Meg had been confused, but Madame Giry had seemed to understand. The same sad look was shared in both of their eyes at the passing of the Opera Ghost. While Paris had rejoiced, they had wept.

Christine had loved her Angel of Music with all of her heart. But she hadn't realized it until it was too late.

* * *

Chapter One

_Missing the Music of the Night_

* * *

Christine Daae stood nervously in front of the entrance to the Opera Populaire. Its managers were expecting her, and were eager to shower their new prima donna with handsome sums of money and the largest dressing room they could give. Christine had plastered on an excited grin for their sake, but found herself saddened by the thought of performing onstage again without knowing her Angel's opinion of her voice and acting skills.

She had always been slightly thrilled when she performed because she knew that he would always be watching - after every performance, he sent to her a red rose with a black ribbon tied around its stem just to let her know that he was proud. How would she be able to stand coming offstage to nothing but meaningless bouquets that random strangers had sent? Those meant nothing.

Christine took a deep breath, swallowed her fear, and became numb - it was her go to when she could not get ahold of the feelings that weighed upon her heart so heavily. The moment she stepped foot over the threshold of the opera house, she was embraced and welcomed and talked at by many people all at once.

"Ah, Miss Daae!"

"How we have missed you, m'dear!"

"Over here, Christine! Don't you remember me?"

"Is it true what the papers said, Christine?"

"Yes! Did you truly meet the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Were you the one who killed him?"

"Did he love you?"

"Was it he who killed Piangi?"

Christine sighed. Aside from her managers, André and Firmin, all that anyone who met her at the door wanted to know was her connection to the Phantom. They wanted her to tell them the stories of her 'abduction'. They wanted more gossip and rumors to spread around the Opera - things must have been especially boring without anything to fear or threaten anyone anymore.

"That's enough!" arose a strict voice from the crowd of people who had circled Christine. She breathed a sigh of relief - here was Madame Giry, to her rescue once again. "She only just got here! Back away, leave her alone! Back to rehearsal, all of you!"

The disappointed crowd slowly dissipated, leaving only André, Firmin, Madame Giry, Meg Giry, and Christine left in the lobby. Christine gave Madame Giry an appreciative look.

"Thank you." she said earnestly, her soft voice echoing through the room. Madame Giry allowed her daughter in all but blood a small, sad smile.

"It is good to have you back, my dear. You've been greatly missed."

"Christine!" chirped Meg excitedly, running to Christine. Christine gave Meg a small laugh, and wrapped her thin arms around her best friend. "Oh, Christine! I've missed you so much! We've so much to catch up on, really we do! Your room has been left untouched, ready for your return! Oh, it will be so nice to have my roommate back again!"

"I've missed you too, Meg." said Christine, the smile that graced her pale face not reaching her eyes. Meg didn't seem to notice.

André and Firmin sensed that their presence was interrupting a private moment, and they politely excused themselves. Christine was grateful - she was overwhelmed as it was seeing all of her old friends and colleagues at once.

"Meg," said Madame Giry. "Why don't you take Christine's bags back up to the dormitories? I have a few things I wish to discuss with her...privately."

"Is it about Erik?" questioned Meg innocently, unaware of the internal flinch her mother had experienced at the sound of the name. "You know you don't have to hide anymore, mother. He's dead, he can't come after me. I'm sure Christine will want to -"

"Meg!" snapped Madame Giry. "Now is not the time. Take Christine's bags up to the room. Then you may come back down and join in whatever conversation I may still be having with her."

Meg looked like a scolded puppy. "Yes, mother." she whimpered sadly, bowing her head in shame. She took Christine's two small bags up the steps immediately, leaving Madame Giry alone with her former pupil.

"Erik?" questioned Christine. Madame Giry shook her head.

"His name." she replied softly. "It does not surprise me he never told you. False identities can be masks, and he never did like to show too much of himself to any one person."

Christine held back her tears. For seven months she had not spoken to anyone so much of her Angel at one time. "It seems that you might be an exception to that, Madame."

Madame Giry gave Christine a watery smile, and Christine could see that her wise eyes were glassy. "You knew more about him than I did, Christine."

Christine suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the floor tiles. "I miss him," she admitted softly.

Madame Giry straightened herself and swallowed her emotions. "It certainly has been quiet around here."

Christine seemed to sense that Madame Giry was closing the subject, so she nodded mutely in understanding. "What performance has been selected for rehearsals this season?"

"We open with _Il Muto_ in two weeks." replied Madame Giry curtly. "Very few selections remained after the fire, so it was between that or _Don J_- or another show that no one would have been too fond performing. We are awaiting new scores to arrive to us from London at their earliest convenience."

Christine nodded. The role of the Countess was a role she knew well - she would be able to sing it. "I'll make my way up to my room then."

Madame Giry gazed at Christine fondly for a moment before placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. All too quickly she was gone, leaving the young prima donna to go to her room alone.

* * *

"Is it terribly strange to be back?" questioned Meg later that evening when Christine had settled back into her old room. Meg had not been kidding - everything had remained utterly untouched.

"_Terribly_ strange," agreed Christine, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. "It's different, though."

Meg looked at Christine with understanding. "Mother won't speak of him," she stated softly, tears welling in her large blue eyes. "She tries to make me believe that it's because she didn't care about him, but I know it's only because she misses him. Speaking of him hurts her heart so. I know she wouldn't want me to bring it all up in front of you, but I _know _you, Christine, and I know that talking about things helps you."

Christine sighed. Meg had always been able to read her emotions far too clearly. She slowly joined Christine on her bed, sitting in front of her expectantly like they used to when they were children. "If you _don't _want to talk about it, we won't, but I know there isn't really anyone that you can share your feelings about him with, so I'm here for you when you need me."

Christine was overwhelmed by Meg's unending kindness, and she immediately burst into tears. Meg cradled her gently, letting her release all of her pent-up sadness. Meg knew that there was nothing she could say to ease her friend's suffering, so she sat there quietly until Christine was ready to talk.

When Christine was finally able to form coherent words again, she asked, "How do you know about all of this, Meg?"

"It was after the fire," the small ballerina responded immediately. "I had realized that my mother knew more of the Opera Ghost than she had always led me to believe, and I forced her to tell me the truth. The walls finally broke down, and she told me everything. She'd never been so open with me before. I think it was all in response to his death, honestly - she said that it was she who he had always trusted with his secrets and his notes and his needs. She'd always felt responsibility for him."

"How did he...?" Christine trailed off, unable to form her question into words. It did not matter; Meg seemed to understand.

"A man came forward to the papers three days after the disaster and told all of Paris that he'd found the Phantom's body famished and burned several miles outside of the city. He must have been trying to flee the country. The man claimed that he'd taken care of..._him_, but he'd felt that it was his duty to let the citizens know that they were safe from the wrath of the Opera Ghost."

Famished. And burned. It was nothing Christine had not expected, yet her heart still shattered at the words. The confident, talented genius had been killed by things that could have killed a _normal_ man. He'd been destroyed by something almost too primitive.

"I miss him." said Christine to Meg with trust. "Ever since the night of _Don Juan_. As I was leaving the lair with Raoul on the boat, I could hear my Angel...Erik...I could hear his voice. He sang, maybe not _to_ me, but _about _me. He said that without me his music was dead, and then I heard glass shattering. I'd been worried then, but I thought maybe he'd just broken something in anger or sadness. I never thought that I'd never hear from him again...the Angel of Music had always been a constant in my life, but his sudden absence left a hole in my heart."

"I remember you once told me that you could sense his presence all around you." noted Meg carefully. "Does it feel different now without him?"

"It feels empty," said Christine heavily, trying to hold back more tears. "His company used to completely fill this Opera House. Now it just feels like someplace I'm intruding in."

"But you aren't!" assured Meg whole-heartedly. "You belong here, Christine! More than anyone ever has!"

"Not everyone, Meg. There was one before I who belonged here even more."

* * *

_Hounded out by everyone_

_Met with hatred everywhere_

_No kind words from anyone_

_No compassion anywhere_

_Christine, why?_

_Why?_

His broken whispers still lingered in Christine's mind for long agonizing minutes after she'd awoken from the nightmare. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her nightdress clung to her body. She hadn't dreamt of his sweet voice in months, yet being back at the Opera had reawakened everything. Even if it _was _a dream about the most sad and distressing time she had spent with him, it was still a dream about Erik, and for that she was grateful.

It didn't stop the tears, though.

From her large doe eyes they cascaded like raindrops down her white cheeks. It was a mournful, loud sobbing, like the tears she'd shed when she'd lost her dear father. Although she knew there would be no one there to comfort her anymore, Christine silently fled her room and made her way down the wooden steps of the ballet dormitories. She tried not to pay attention to the creaking sounds in the walls and floors, she tried not to be frightened since she'd forgotten a light source to make her journey easier, and she tried to get ahold of her manic crying before someone heard her and noticed.

It took longer than usual for Christine to reach the small chapel held several stories below her room. Her father's candle was still there, waiting to be lit. Just being in the warm, candlelit room was easing her nerves a bit. She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to let the tears finish running their course. She lit her father's candle, muttering rehearsed prayers as she did so. She knelt before the image of an angel that hung above her, and began to sing.

_Angel of Music, speak I listen_

_Stay by my side, guide me._

For some reason, Christine had hoped that her plea would be heard and she would be graced with a response. No such response came. Christine's wishes to hear her Angel became more frantic.

_Angel of Music, I denied you_

_Turning from true beauty!_

Still nothing. The tears began again, fresh and returning with a vengeance. All Christine could think about was never seeing Erik again, never hearing his sweet voice, never receiving another rose or comforting word, never again having him teach her proper breathing techniques or helping her warm up. Each image that came to mind was another knife in her heart.

_Angel of music, my protector!_

_Come to me, strange angel!_

Nothing but silence. Sobbing violently, Christine gave one more heart-breaking request to whoever was listening. It was an apology, the most heartfelt she could come up with. The words meant something entirely different than the last time she'd sang them to her Angel of Music and she hoped, wherever he was, he could hear her.

_Erik my soul was weak, forgive me!_

_Enter at last master!_

Ten minutes of cruel, mocking nothingness later, Christine gave up and slowly picked herself up off the floor. Giving one last longing look to the angel mosaic, she blew out the candle she'd lit for her father and with it, extinguished the flame Erik had lit in her heart.

* * *

"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!"

"No, no, no - this is an opera, not a play. _Sing _the words, please, Miss Daae."

"Serafimo - "

"Miss Daae, _sing_, I beg of you!"

"But Monsieur,"

"Sing!"

"You _cannot speak, but kiss me-_"

"No Miss Daae, _you _are the one who must not speak! Fine! Ten minutes to collect yourself and then we'll try again."

Christine was not yet even rehearsing in costume and the show was already a disaster. She found that she could not successfully sing her part without some sort of motivation. The music had just...left her. And she wasn't certain how she was planning to bring it back.

"Christine!" called a very concerned Meg. Christine turned from her spot on the stage to where her friend was coming from ballet warm ups. She, unlike Christine, was very much in costume and makeup. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I don't know!" cried Christine, frustration leaking into her tone. "I simply cannot sing!"

"There isn't anything simple about that!" said Meg, shocked. "You're the finest singer I know, Christine, this should be _nothing _on your perfect voice!"

"I don't know what to do," admitted Christine with fear. "What if I'm never able to sing again? What if I truly no longer hold a place here?"

"You must not think such things!" exclaimed Meg. "Why don't you retire to your dressing room for a few minutes? Rest your voice, drink some water, collect your thoughts. Don't think of this with any..._emotional _attachments, Christine." Meg gave Christine a knowing look. "This is simply professional. I know that you can do this."

Christine gave Meg a grateful smile. "Thank you, Meg. I think that's what I'll do."

As Christine walked back to her dressing room, the rest of the company politely ignored her blunder and continued work on their scales and routines. Meg gazed sadly at her friend until she was out of sight, and was then startled from her thoughts by her mother's voice.

"She has changed."

Before Meg could even reply, the shouts of Messieurs André and Firmin could be heard. Both Meg and Madame Giry turned around to see their managers in quite a fluster.

"What do you mean, Miss Daae shall not sing?"

"Where has she gone?"

"I'm afraid that _none _of you understand! Miss Daae _must _sing - _our _necks depend on it!"

Madame Giry sighed in irritation and rolled her eyes. She approached the frightened men with no restraint.

"Miss Daae will sing." she said strictly. "She is overwhelmed by her return. She needed a few moments' rest. Do not lose faith in your _first lady of the stage_ so quickly, Messieurs."

"Madame," said André nervously, dabbing his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid that you do not understand -"

"Understand _what_?" snapped Madame Giry. An equally terrified Firmin said no words, but handed the ballet mistress an already open envelope.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Madame Giry breathlessly, immediately recognizing the handwriting on the front of the message. "Who gave you this?"

"It was on my desk this morning." replied André shakily. "Read it."

Madame Giry was still suspicious, but looked down upon the heavy parchment anyways. What she saw stunned her into silence for several long moments.

_Dear Messieurs,_

_I am pleased to see your intelligence finally emerging in selecting Miss Daae as prima donna._

_Don't ruin it, or it shall be you who pay the price._

_I hope sincerely that you soon wake up from your preposterous fantasies that you can kill a __ghost__!_

_I also bear a question for you, gentlemen:_

_Did the first papers to release the news of the death of the Opera Ghost ever see their informant's face?_

_I remain your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

* * *

**And that's that! I promise the rest of the story won't be so angsty, but I love fluff, and Christine missing Erik can definitely lead to a heartwarming reunion! Anything that you do not understand I have left out on purpose - I must have read over this twenty times, so I am sure nothing is missing. I look forward to your responses, and I hope that you enjoyed! And if small details are wrong (like Meg and Christine having their own room, for instance) I have changed it to fit the needs of this story. Thank you for reading!**


	2. The Infamous Opera Ghost

**Author's Note: My Author's Notes will from now on be found at the bottom of every chapter, but I would just like to send out a brief reminder that this story is based on the 2004 movie, so if you don't like the movie then please keep your opinon to yourself. But I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story and review! It makes my day to read your wonderful comments, and I'm eager to continue :) I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! And I know that this update was very quick, but don't expect that all the time - I go back to school tomorrow, and that will result in less frequent updates. Sorry! But I promise I won't abandon this story - I'm too excited for it (:**

* * *

_"Angel? Why can't I see your face?" _

_"...you can hear me, can't you?" _

_"Yes, and you're a wonderful teacher, but I wish I could see you in person." _

_"I'm an Angel, Christine. I can't materialize out of thin air." _

_"Oh...but you promise you'll never leave me?" _

_"As long as you wish me to, I will stay with you." _

_"Yes, but you _promise_?" _

_"Yes, Christine. I promise." _

* * *

Chapter Two

_The Infamous Opera Ghost_

* * *

"Sick!" spat Madame Giry in disgust, crumpling up the note she still held in her hands. "A cruel _sick_ joke, played on us."

"But, but Madame -" protested Firmin nervously, reaching for the paper. Madame Giry held it away from him and narrowed her eyes.

"The Opera Ghost is dead." she said firmly, throwing the note across the stage. It landed in the corner. "He was a _man_, Firmin, not a ghost or spirit. Seven months this opera house has been quiet and at peace. Had he lived, he would have shown himself by now. He was killed by things any man could have died from."

"But the handwriting -" tried André weakly, his stomach churning at the thought of the Phantom. Images of brutal attacks and falling chandeliers filled his worried mind.

"Forgery!" shouted Madame Giry. "This shall not be mentioned again. Forget this ever happened, Messieurs. Don't worry your minds. And do _not_, under any circumstances, tell Miss Daae of this - you think she is having a hard time singing _now_? If she _ever _finds out about this, you will not have a prima donna. Mark my words."

Without another word, a shaking Madame Giry turned from the managers and went back to her ballerinas. Her strict voice immediately started barking out orders.

"Knees straight! Toes pointed! Marie, what _is _that? It is most certainly not a coupé!"

Meg, having seen everything, stood center stage with her mouth hanging open in shock. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Firmin and André and her mother, and eventually, the two shaken managers walked away. Madame Giry gave her girls a five-minute break to get rehydrated, and Meg saw her only opportunity. She flitted quickly to the corner where the crumpled note still laid. She picked it up, dusted it off, flattened it out, and hid it in the folds of her costume. She wasn't sure what she was planning to do with it, but she knew she couldn't just leave it sitting there where someone could easily have picked it up and read it.

"Meg?" came a demure voice from behind her. Meg immediately squealed and jumped guiltily. She turned around to see Christine watching her with curious eyes. "What are you doing back here?" she chuckled nervously, letting a small smile appear on her face. She took Meg by the arm and began to lead her back to where everyone else was. "If you stay back there you'll dirty your costume!"

"Christine?" asked Meg, wrinkling her eyebrows in confusion. "What's gotten into you? Just a few minutes ago, you -"

"I thought about what you said." Christine explained. "And you were right. I've been too emotionally attached to all of this. I just need to think of this as my job."

Meg smiled brilliantly, her face lighting up like a firework. "Christine!" she exclaimed jovially, throwing her arms around her best friend's neck. "I'm so glad you're feeling better!"

Meg skipped away happily to the ballet bar, where she began to stretch her legs. Christine allowed her façade to fade when she didn't have anyone to impress anymore. She fingered the black silk ribbon she had tied to her hair and took a deep breath.

"I do this for you," she whispered. "I do this to make you proud."

Christine turned back to the maestro, and declared that she was ready to try singing her role again.

"From where we left off then, please, Miss Daae." said the little man nervously. He gulped, and began to lead his orchestra into the piece.

_"Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!" _

Before Christine even got through the line the orchestra stopped, and the maestro clapped excitedly. "Brava! Brava! _That _is the Miss Daae we have waited for! I knew you could do it, I just knew it! Never had any doubts!"

Christine blushed and smiled, turning her head away in modesty. "No, really, I -"

"No, don't deny it! You have finally returned to us, Miss Daae! And I know we all look forward to watching you perform for our opening in just a few short days!"

* * *

Later that evening after dinner, Christine sat alone in her room on her bed. The light outside her window was fading, casting gloomy shadows on the streets. Very few people were about due to the impending cold weather, and the atmosphere was less than cheerful. Christine sat in her nightdress, playing with the black ribbon which had held back her hair earlier during rehearsal. She tried to memorize it; the feel of it on her fingertips, the length, the shade. She pressed it to her cheek, closing her eyes as she realized that he had _touched _this. It had once been wrapped around a beautiful red rose that _he _had sent her. It was a sign of his pride in her, and it had miraculously given her back her voice when those around her had begun to doubt.

_Softly, deftly music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it secretly possess you_

The memory had hit her so suddenly that Christine was nearly breathless. The sound of his beautiful voice serenading her had been the most powerful experience of her life, yet she had always found that when she had tried to remember it, parts of it just slipped away. But now she heard it, calling to her with perfect clarity. Being back at the Opera Populaire had its ups and downs, she decided; her ability to remember happier times with him was one of the ups.

_"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams, purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar. And you'll live as you've never lived be-" _

"That's beautiful!"

Startled, Christine gasped and immediately dropped the ribbon she had still been holding to her cheek. Meg stood at the end of her bed, smiling widely, her eyes gleaming. Christine hadn't even heard her come in.

"Christine," she said, crawling onto the bed with her friend. She sat in front of her expectantly. "What is that you were singing? It was unlike anything I've ever heard before! It was beautiful!"

Christine flushed with absolute horror. She hadn't even realized she'd been singing out loud! The music of the night, the sweet sounds of the darkness, was something she knew she could share only with Erik. "Just a song," she said quietly, her voice coming out weakly. She didn't even sound convincing to herself. "I heard it long ago, and was trying to remember the words."

"I can see why you would be trying," said Meg boisterously, her smile unaffected, though she must have known Christine wasn't sharing the whole truth with her. "The tune was simply mesmerizing! Haunting, almost."

Christine tried her hardest not to smile. "You're telling me," she mumbled under her breath, remembering the spell she'd been under when Erik had first revealed himself to her. He'd been the beacon of perfection, and she had been completely enchanted by his beautiful voice and powerful music.

"Would you sing it again?" requested Meg, batting her eyelashes at Christine. "From the beginning?"

Christine felt torn. She trusted Meg with her whole heart, she truly and utterly did, but she still felt that sharing his music without him was a betrayal on her part to Erik. And she had already betrayed him more than anyone could have ever imagined. "It's slipping away again," she excused weakly, unable to meet Meg's large blue eyes. "Maybe another time."

Meg realized that the tune was something Christine had probably shared with Erik, and she instantly felt guilt wash through her spirit. "Oh Christine, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize that -"

Christine gave Meg a reassuring smile and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. It's over now."

_It's over now, the music of the night!_

Christine flinched as his voice pierced her memories again. Those were the last words she'd ever heard him sing.

"We can just talk about something else!" suggested Meg quickly, scraping her brain for anything to get Christine's mind away from less pleasant thoughts. "How was the rest of rehearsal today? Mother dragged us off before I could hear you sing!"

"I got through it." said Christine humbly, her fingers absent-mindedly finding the ribbon upon her blanket again. "The maestro was able to breathe more easily after I was done, anyway." Christine smiled at an attempt of humor. Whether or not Meg actually bought it was beyond her, but she smiled anyway.

"I'm sure he was hardly breathing at all." gushed Meg, trying to boost Christine's confidence as much as humanly possible. "Your voice is absolutely exquisite; I wish I could sing half as well as you do."

Christine smiled, but did not respond. She retreated back to her thoughts again, back to the underground world that rested beneath the very opera house she sat in. It was most likely sealed off now; André and Firmin would undoubtedly not want anyone poking about the lair of the Opera Ghost and perhaps "reawakening" his spirit. All that beautiful music would lay forgotten below the earth forever. It seemed an awful shame.

But despite how horrible the idea of it all sounded to Christine, she knew she would never be able to convince herself to back to his home and go through his things. Despite his death, she felt that it was a terrible sin to take anything from his artistic domain without his permission.

"Don't think about it." urged Meg knowingly, placing a comforting hand on Christine's shoulder. "It will only make it worse."

"Sometimes I pretend he's still here." said Christine without shame. "It helps me go to sleep to pretend he's still watching over me."

"Who's to say that he isn't?" asked Meg quietly, retreating to her own bed as she spoke. She got underneath the covers and blew out the candle on her dresser. "He's your _real _Angel of Music now, Christine. And I know that even in death he wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Meg's thoughts trailed back to the note she'd read fifty times by then; _"__I hope sincerely that you soon wake up from your preposterous assumptions that you can kill a ghost!_" Her mother was probably right; it had been seven months, and if the Opera Ghost...Erik...had survived, then surely he would have made himself known before then? And - even if not publicly - he would have at least alerted Madame Giry and Christine to the fact of his survival, wouldn't he have?

Meg knew she wouldn't have the heart to let Christine see the note; the fact that someone was pretending to be her Erik would hurt her. She wouldn't ever be able to sing again, because the music in her soul would die. It would be better to keep her from the cruel prank. Meg decided that she would wake up early the next morning and burn it.

Sighing, Meg turned onto her side - facing away from Christine - and took her pillow into her arms. She was just beginning to fall into sleep's comforting embrace when her fingertips touched a piece of parchment. Groaning, Meg sat up and took the slip of paper into her delicate hands. In the dim light, she was just able to make out two words written in elegant script.

_Show her._

Meg's heart stopped and her blood ran cold. _Who could have seen her take the crumpled note?_

"The Angel sees," her mother had always warned her. "The Angel knows."

Meg's head whipped quickly around to look at Christine, who was staring brokenly at a black ribbon in her hands. Meg looked at the note that had fallen to her lap, then back at Christine, and then at the note once more. She couldn't decide for herself what the right thing to do was, and she had never felt so torn in all her life. She would either be fixing the broken heart of her best friend by telling her that the Phantom of the Opera was still alive, or she would be crushing the already demolished pieces of her spirit by giving her false hope.

* * *

Christine skipped her vocal warm ups on the stage the next morning, and chose instead to work on her voice by herself in her dressing room. The maestro would not understand her strange vocal rituals that had been ingrained into her memory over the course of twelve years, and she knew she wouldn't be able to rehearse half as well if she didn't ready her voice as she knew she had to.

The dressing room was dimly lit, which helped to relax Christine. She locked her door, took a deep breath, and belted out the first note that came to mind. After that she corrected her posture, which she knew Erik would have commented on immediately, and did her scales. But she found she had little patience with idle nothings coming from her voice, so she began to sing words. Those words unintentionally turned into the very song which had invaded her dreams the entire night before.

_"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication_

_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night"_

Despite the sadness that Christine felt at knowing that she would never again get to share these feelings with Erik, they empowered her in a way, and wrapped her in a blanket of protection. His words, the words that Christine knew she could never forget, made her strong and confident, and she knew she would blow away whatever aria or tune anyone wished her to carry. Smiling brilliantly at the pride that Erik would feel at hearing her beautiful voice improve even more, Christine ran from her dressing room up to the stage, her soul feeling happier than it had in months.

The dressing room remained still for several long moments after Christine's departure. Then slowly, agonizingly slowly, a click was heard and the mirror that Christine had stared into so many times before began to move. It pulled apart from the wall enough that a hidden passage behind it could be seen. And emerging from the passage was a man, who was stunned nearly into silence. A white mask covered half of his face, and he personified the very words that Christine had been singing just minutes before.

Had he heard his former protegé correctly? Had she been singing _his _music, the very music that he had used to profess his love to her? She still remembered it?

And then hate filled his heart. Of course she remembered it - it was music, of course, and Christine had always had a knack for remembering music. It had nothing to do with him. Surely her precious husband would be there opening night to support his little Countess as she shone on the stage of the Opera Populaire once again. Of course, Erik was surprised that he had let her come back at all. Wasn't it _oh so unbecoming _for a lady of her status to perform at all, much less as a prima donna?

He knew she must have thought him dead - he'd made certain that anyone who ever knew him thought him dead. Why else would he have gone straight to the papers to tell them of his 'death'? He'd had to make sure that angry mobs wouldn't continue going after him while he tried to figure out his next plan of action - part of him had wanted to leave Paris and start someplace fresh, but he'd found that he simply couldn't abandon the Opera he had come to know as his home. He would tell anyone who asked that it was because it would be too much of a hassle to move all of his music and secrets someplace new, but in his heart, he knew that it was because part of him had hoped to see Christine Daae just one more time.

He had watched the rehearsals for the new production of _Il Muto_, but had refrained from spying on Christine at any other time - she had made her choice painfully clear when she'd run off with de Chagney, and far be it from him to keep her from what she wanted. He loved her too much for that. He still felt her kiss on his lips, and he unconsciously touched a gloved hand to his mouth as though he could steal away her essence and keep a small piece of her with him always.

But during rehearsals, he'd been shocked - Christine was hardly even singing! She was _speaking _the role of the Countess, and seemed almost dead. Had he still been playing the part of her teacher, he would have thrown a fit. He had then watched her sneak off to her dressing room to collect herself, and resisted the urge to follow her. He instead watched as Messieurs André and Firmin had anxiety attacks over the little message he'd sent - he was sure the Opera would think it a prank of one of the stage hands or something, but he'd been plotting his return as the Phantom for quite some time. Christine returning as prima donna had been the perfect opportunity.

Erik's broken heart began to fill with something he greatly disapproved of - hope. As he'd watched Christine warm up just then, the one guilty pleasure he'd allowed himself, she'd followed every instruction he had ever given her. He even swore she'd looked somewhat sad and regretful while doing it - like she _missed _him, or something. And then that song...

Erik's eyes became glassy, and a single tear fell. It ran beneath his mask, and rested upon the deformity that could never allow anyone to love him. His voice echoed eerily through the small room as he replied to Christine's song choice.

_"You alone can make my song take flight._

_Help me make the music of the night." _

* * *

"Brava!" shouted Monsieur André, as he made his presence in his theater known. He had watched Christine rehearse for nearly fifteen minutes, and was relieved beyond belief that the Phantom wouldn't need to come after him. Joke or not, the note he had found the previous morning upon his desk had scared him out of his wits. "Magnificent, Mademoiselle! You're beautiful tones do not compare with - well, with anything!"

Christine was smiling, glowing even, and gave a small curtsey to her manager. "I thank you, Monsieur."

"Please, do indulge me a moment," André continued as he walked to wear Christine stood in full costume and makeup. She made a better Countess than that Carlotta could have ever dreamed of becoming. "What _is _your secret? Yesterday you did a fine job, don't get me wrong, but it seems as if today, a fire has been ignited in your soul!"

"And it burns more strongly than ever." said Christine in a daze. The aria she had performed was a powerful piece, and she'd allowed the music to carry her away. She'd done just what Erik had always tried to have her do - feel the music, and respond to it. Let it guide you, he'd once said. And that's exactly what she'd done. And it helped her confidence greatly that the black ribbon was still tied discreetly in her hair.

"Well whatever you did worked!" assured André. "I look forward to opening night more than ever, and whether it was a joke or not, I'm sure the ever so infamous _Phantom of the Opera _will not have my head for _that _performance!"

"What?" Christine deadpanned, the smile instantly leaving her suddenly pale face. "What joke? What are you talking about?"

André instantly seemed to understand his mistake, and his face became whiter than Christine's. He fumbled for words. "Uh- nothing! I-I just, I mean -"

"You're a wretched liar, Monsieur." said Christine with sadness. "Please, tell me the truth. What joke? What are you talking about?"

"Madame Giry told me not to tell you!" insisted André, sounding more like a petulant child than a refined manager of a famous opera house. "She said you would take it the wrong way and your music - or something - would disintegrate, or go away, or something to that effect."

Christine raised an eyebrow, and begged André with her eyes to tell her the truth.

"Oh, fine!" exclaimed André in anger. "I received a note on my desk yesterday signed 'O.G.' thanking me greatly for allowing you to be our prima donna. And he went on to say that if we did anything to ruin it, he would have our heads." André watched Christine with nervous eyes, terrified of what her reaction might be. He waited.

"And I'm assuming this was someone's idea of humor?" tried Christine, swallowing back her tears. She would not allow them to fall - this was professional, this was her job, this was -

"It would seem so." said André delicately, puting a comforting hand on Christine's shoulder. "But you needn't fear, Miss Daae! The monster is gone, and even if he wasn't, I doubt he would try to go after you again. You are perfectly safe here, I promise you!"

But Christine could not remain composed. She turned her back on Monsieur André, tears welling in her eyes, and stalked off to remove her costume and makeup. André stood back, shaking his head.

"Leading ladies shall be the death of me, I swear it!"

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed! I know that the bit with Erik was a _lot _of explaining and not much action, but I'm hoping since I got that part out of the way that the fun can begin! I'm hoping to have the next chapter out soon, but like I said, things in my life are about to get crazy so just stick around. Christine's moping will (hopefully!) come to an end soon, and (hopefully!) Erik can learn that he is worth Christine's love :) Your reviews keep me going, so don't forget to comment! Thanks guys :)**


	3. Angels Always Listen

_"Christine? What is it? Why are you crying?" _

_"Oh, Angel! It was those other girls again - they hate me!"_

_"Why do you care what they think, my sweet child? Why does their opinion matter?" _

_"They're all I have - I have no papa, and I have no siblings, and Meg isn't around as much as she used to be because _she _gets along with them just fine! It's only me!"_

_"You have _me_, Christine. I'll always be here - you made me make that promise years ago, remember?" _

_"They tell me that you aren't real - they think me a child for still believing that angels exist." _

_"Do you believe that I am real, Christine?" _

_"...of course I do! If you weren't, how could you speak to me or teach me as you do? I know you are real, Angel." _

_"I wish that that were enough for you, Christine." _

_"Sometimes, I imagine that you're able to come down from heaven and comfort me, Angel. You'd listen to me." _

_"I'll always listen to you - I don't need to materialize for that to remain true." _

_"Sometimes, I just feel so alone...as if no one would listen if I spoke my feelings aloud...or if they did, then no one would care."_

* * *

Chapter Three

_Angels Always Listen_

* * *

Since the moment La Carlotta had been hired, Christine had found that she'd possessed an intense dislike for her. Her voice, when singing, was often shrill and piercing due to her constant yelling. She would always treat the stage hands as slaves, and expect special treatment since she was, after all, the ever prestigious prima donna. Christine, from her spot next to Meg at the ballet bar during rehearsals, had always secretly sworn to herself that if _she _was ever lucky enough to become the star of the Opera Populaire, she would _never _behave as Carlotta did.

So needless to say, Christine found it incredibly ironic that this was the second time she had stormed out of rehearsals since her short return to her opera house. Well, perhaps 'stormed' was too strong an adjective, but in any case, the result was always the same; Christine was, in her own way, becoming just as high maintenance as La Carlotta had been.

Seeking solace, Christine had dashed to her dressing room when André had mistakenly revealed the truth about the 'little joke' that had been played the previous morning. Christine knew in her heart that it wasn't truly Erik who had written the warning, but it still hurt. It had given her heart the briefest flicker of hope, and that had already proven to be more than she could handle. Her grief pressed down on her like a heavy cross left for her alone to bear, and she knew that she did not have the strength to do so.

It was then, sitting alone in the dimly lit room as she had done so many times before, that Christine realized how truly and utterly _alone _she was. Meg was her only true friend, and she couldn't be with her all the time, nor could she really comprehend what Christine went through on a daily basis. The other ballet rats and chorus girls had not changed since the events that had transpired in Christine's life; they were only pretending to be kind to her so they could learn the truth of the infamous Phantom. They cared for her no more than they had before, and Christine was sure that when the hype about the Opera Ghost died down, they would return to being cruel to her. Being the prima donna could change _some _things, but Christine was sure her former dormmates would hold no more respect for her than ever.

Christine nearly laughed when she realized how many times she had been in the very same situation before; sitting alone in her dressing room, wiping tears away from her eyes and wallowing in her own self-pity. Only back in the day, Christine would have been able to call to her Angel of Music and find comfort from his sweet voice. But those glorious times had long since gone away, and Christine knew that she was just going to need to learn how to be lonely.

_"No one would listen...no one but him_

_Heard as the outcast hears." _

Christine may not have lived her entire life in solitude, but she had always been an outcast. She had never fit in with any of the others her own age, and she had always been old beyond her years. But it was obvious to her now that her maturity had failed when she'd needed it most - looking back on all that had transpired between herself and her Erik, she realized just what a dolt she had been. She'd let him slip through her fingers like water, and she knew that she deserved to spend the rest of her life alone for that.

Christine found that she didn't care if she didn't return to rehearsal for the rest of the day - what was the point? Why had she come back at all? All she was doing was crying and missing Erik and reliving only the hellish parts of her childhood. Was singing onstage again really worth all of that self-torture?

* * *

Little Meg Giry walked glumly through the many balconies and stairwells of the Opera Populaire in confusion. Messieurs André and Firmin had called off the rest of rehearsals for the day before Meg had even finished warming her muscles up for her mother's elaborate ballet routines. Madame Giry had been rather insistent that rehearsals continue, but the good managers had refused their strict ballet mistress. They'd said that everyone needed a little break, but - though she'd not seen it for proof - Meg had a feeling that the sudden cancellation had something to do with Christine.

Part of her had said to immediately find Christine and figure out what was the matter, but another part of her had reasoned that perhaps Christine needed to be left alone for a little while. Meg had listened to that side of her - she knew the way Christine could be when she needed some private time.

Meg wondered briefly if perhaps Christine had found out about the note, and shuddered at the thought of how hurt she was going to be when she found out that Meg had kept that from her.

Meg hardly ever dared to venture off alone, for fear that the Opera Ghost...Erik...would catch her, and she couldn't belive she'd stalked off in a random direction with no clue as to where she was heading. She jumped at every creak of wood beneath her calloused feet and swore that she saw a shape moving in every shadow. Her pulse began to pound so loudly that she feared she would wake the dead. Her breathing became faster, and she immediately turned around with the intention of going back the way she'd come - but when she did so, she discovered three different hallways. All that seemed to stretch on forever. And Meg had not the faintest idea which one she had come through.

Meg whimpered like an injured animal, and sunk to the floor in hopelessness. She silently cursed her mother for never allowing her to learn independence, and for never teaching her the schematics of the Opera Populaire.

* * *

Christine decided delicately that she needed to get out, just for a little while. Her first destination idea had been her father's grave, but she immediately discarded the notion. Going there would only worsen her sadness, and the cemetary would remind her of the _last _time she had been there...something that would surely not brighten her spirit.

Her second idea had been this little café down several blocks from the opera that she and Meg used to frequent, but that was no good either because it had been closed down three months earlier. Christine was just starting to panic that she may have nowhere to go, when all of a sudden, the candle next to her flickered out. Now that would have been no surprise to most people, but to Christine, it was a sign. Her sudden intake of breath echoed eerily through the suddenly silent room, and she whipped her head wildly back and forth in search of, what seemed to her, a ghost. From the corner, another candle slowly flickered and went out, and Christine nearly passed out. Could it be true? Was he coming?

Christine eagerly stood up, straightening her dress, and she tried to control the racing of her heart. He was coming! He was coming back to her! Her Erik, her Phantom, her Angel of Music!

_Angel I hear you! _

_Speak, I listen! _

_Enter at last master!_

Christine sang these words quickly and breathlessly, and her eyes bore into her own reflection in the mirror. She imagined him standing there in all of his glory, smiling, waiting for her, opening the passage to his secret world, and embracing her as she -

"Ah, sadly not an Angel, Little Lotte." came a smirking voice from Christine's doorway. "But an old friend, come to visit you before you make your glorious triumph next week."

The re-breaking of Christine's already shattered heart was incomparable to any searing pain imaginable. Tears were already pooling in her eyes as she reluctantly turned to see her childhood friend, Raoul, standing by the open door of her dressing room. He seemed to sense her sadness, and ran to her quickly. He took her into his arms, arms that - to Christine - felt cold and uninviting simply because they weren't the strong embrace she longed for.

"Christine!" he murmured into her hair. "What's wrong? What's happened? Have I come at a bad time?"

Part of Christine felt guilty - he hadn't done anything on purpose. She'd been living on the false hope a _flickering candle _had been giving her.

"Raoul," said Christine softly, her voice thick with emotion. "I wasn't expecting you." she did not say the words unkindly, though she really wished he would not have come. While yes, they had remained friends after all that had transpired, he was not the comfort she needed.

"I know," chuckled Raoul boyishly, holding out to Christine the single red rose she hadn't known he'd brought in. "I believe that that is what modern people refer to as a 'surprise'."

Christine stared dumbly at the rose, like she had never seen one before. She did not...could not...accept it. Not from Raoul.

"Oh," she said numbly, meeting Raoul's eyes. They held nothing but kindness. "Thank you - what a nice surprise."

"This scene played out much better in my head," admitted Raoul sheepishly, laughing at his own joke. Christine felt nothing but despair - his wasn't the laugh she wanted to hear!

"I'm sorry to disappoint you again." said Christine venomously, trying not to feel bitter towards Raoul. But it was hard not to whenever she thought that it was her mundane teenage attraction towards him that had caused her Angel's demise. "It seems I can't do anything right, these days."

"Little Lotte," said Raoul, concerned. "You don't seem yourself. What's wrong?"

Christine stared at Raoul in shock - it was a long time before she could even manage to form even the slightest sort of an explanation. "Do you really have to ask me that, Raoul? _What's wrong?_ I have no one! Meg rehearses, and her mother is in charge, and the others only care for me because I hold the key to the heart of the infamous _Phantom_, who - by the way - is dead and it's all my fault! So what is wrong, you ask? Nothing Raoul! I'm perfectly fine, living in a perfectly happy world!" Tears had sprung from Christine's brown eyes during her rant, and she hastily wiped them away. She would not show weakness.

"Christine, I'm sorry!" said Raoul immediately, thrusting his hands in front of him in a defensive position, thus causing the rose to fall on the floor. Christine resisted the urge to step on it. "I didn't know - I didn't realize - I only came as a friend to surprise you! I thought you'd be...happy to see me! If it would make you glad, I'll leave now, I promise. I didn't mean to cause you pain."

The guilt washed through Christine's mind and got rid of any angry feelings that still rested there. "Oh, Raoul." she sighed defeated, sinking to the floor. "I am so sorry."

Raoul bent down next to her, and took her hand in his. He stroked her palm gently with his thumb. "It's alright," he murmured over and over. "It's alright."

"No, it isn't. I was horrible to you." said Christine with self-loathing clear in her voice. "I haven't seen you in months and all I've done is screech at you! I didn't mean to, it's just...I don't have anyone that I can really talk to about the way I'm feeling but Meg, and even then she doesn't completely understand. I suppose I've just had a short temper as of late."

"I understand." said Raoul simply. "I'll be here the rest of the week...as patron, it's required of me to see your opening performance on Monday, not that I wouldn't have come anyway. I'm residing upstairs, so come and seek me out when you're ready to talk. I'll leave you to your thoughts."

And with that, Raoul was gone, and Christine was alone again, unaware of the eyes that were, indeed, watching her from behind glass.

* * *

_They aren't married._

That was the only thought that Erik could comprehend through the haze that had suddenly infiltrated his mind.

_They aren't married._

_"An old friend, come to visit you before you make your glorious triumph next week." _

_"I'm residing upstairs, so come and seek me out when you're ready to talk." _

Those were not the words a husband said a wife. Those were words that friends spoke to each other. Those words were simple, those words held no heavy emotion. Those words...

_They aren't married_.

It didn't even seem to Erik that they were _together_. Christine had said herself that she hadn't seen him in months. And she'd been so upset by the very sight of his face. Her reaction had been a reaction that Erik would have expected her to have at seeing _him_, not her precious little Vicomte.

_They aren't married!_

Erik couldn't help but smile as he left the mirror and made his way back to his lair. Christine was _no one's_. And that look on her face, that hopeful _look _that she'd gotten upon seeing that candle blow out...she'd sung out for him, she'd eagerly anticipated his arrival, despite the fact she believed him dead.

Erik's heart leapt, and he basked in the not-so-familiar presence of euphoria. Oh, she would not be thinking that much longer...now that de Chagny was out-of-the-way, there was nothing stopping Erik from taking back Christine...seranading her...loving her...

And then Erik stopped himself mid-thought. He froze in the middle of the corridor he was standing in, and shakily pressed a gloved hand to the porcelain mask. Christine's lack of husband had not managed to erase every boundary standing in their way. He was still a creature of darkness, one who was bound to spend his life alone. For what woman, let alone Christine, could love him with a face so hideous and abhorrent?

_They aren't married..._

But that didn't help Erik at all.

* * *

It was well past midnight. All who inhabited the Opera Populaire were fast asleep. Christine had been waiting up for Meg, but she'd assumed that her blonde friend was out on the town or busy with something else, so she had taken to occupying herself with a bit of light reading. What had started out as a way to pass the time had turned into a three-hour long ordeal for Christine, ending in her tears from reading the novel's sad ending.

Needing to step out, Christine left the warm comfort of her room and made her way down the steps. It was dark, but the night didn't frighten Christine. On the contrary, the night wrapped Christine like armor, and she felt incredibly safe. She took a small candle from a table near the stairway's end, and let the small light guide her through the many twisting, turning hallways. She didn't realize where her heart was leading her until she recognized the door to the stage.

Christine didn't even pause. She waltzed right into the backstage area, and felt around herself to make sure that she didn't run into any set pieces. The darkness consumed her, and her only source of the light was the small, dim candle she carried.

Christine slowly made her way through the maze of costumes and ladders to where the curtain stood tall and grand. She slipped through it and stared into the black abyss ahead of her. She closed her eyes, imagining warmth and light and a theater filled with people cheering. Her fantasy was so real...people throwing flowers, calling her name, and a presence in the air...a presence who was more proud of her than anyone else...

Suddenly, it all became _too_ real for Christine. The presence she had imagined seemed to actually pulse from the direction Christine knew Box 5 was in. She nearly dropped her candle in shock - and she knew she couldn't afford that. If she lost her small light source, she would be lost in the Opera until morning.

_Sing_, Christine's heart told her. _Sing for no one but yourself and him...no one is around. This is not for your job - this is for you._

Christine gently placed her candle on the ground next to her and drew strength from the darkness...this would truly be music of the night. Christine timidly sang out into the open:

_"Who knows when love begins?_

_Who knows what makes it start?"_

The words came to her mind from seemingly nothing, but she felt the truth within them. She sang to him and only him, and she knew that wherever he was, he heard her.

_"One day it's simply there..._

_Alive inside your heart._

_It slips into your thoughts, _

_It infiltrates your soul._

_It takes you by surprise_

_Then seizes full control." _

Oh, how true it was...her love for him blinded her, prevented her from truly being a part of the living world while he remained dead.

_"Try to deny it..._

_And try to protest._

_But love won't let you go,_

_Once you've been possessed." _

The next verse Christine thought of singing made her heart leap, and she prepared herself to profess her unending love to Erik once and for all -

_"Love never dies!_

_Love never falters!_

_Once it has spoken!_

_Love is yours!"_

-when a voice that was not hers joined her in the darkness.

* * *

**AHH! Next chapter is the reunion! I am so excited! If y'all didn't know, the song Christine was singing is "Love Never Dies" from...well, Love Never Dies lol. I know that people had varying opinions about it, but I just got the DVD and I'm in love with it! It's excellent :) Although I did not like the ending -_- but I'm not going to spoil it for anybody! I'm sorry I took so long with the update, but I've been getting ready for the musical I've been cast in to start rehearsals, school has been hectic, and I've just been busy :P But your beautiful reviews have kept me going, and I was super excited to write this chapter! Even more so to write the next one, because I know _exactly _how I want it to go! If anyone has any questions, feel free to PM me and I will answer them - I haven't re-read this chapter yet, so I don't know if I made any part of it confusing - I know it jumps around a lot :P But whatever! I'm glad you guys clicked on to read, and please keep reviewing! Reviews make me squeal with joy :D Thanks guys!**


	4. The Shape In The Shadows

_"Angel, how did you learn to make such pretty music?" _

_"You think my music is pretty, Christine?" _

_"Of course I do! Your music is the most prettiest and beautiful thing I've ever heard in my whole life!" _

_"I am pleased to hear that you think so." _

_"How could I not? You're perfect, Angel, absolutely perfect." _

_"No one and nothing is perfect, Christine, except perhaps you." _

_"Oh, _I'm_ not perfect, mon ange. I've done loads of bad things." _

_"Nothing that would damn you, Christine. You are perfection and beauty in the flesh." _

_"Do you love me, Angel?" _

_"..." _

_"I mean like a papa would love me? I mean, I don't have anybody else who loves me, and it would just be nice to know that I'm not alone. Do you know what I mean?" _

_"Of course I do. And yes, Christine. I love you. I've...always loved you." _

_"I miss my papa, but I'm glad I have you. I don't know where I'd be without you." _

_"I know exactly where I would be without you, my Christine. And I dread to even imagine such a desolate and lonely existance."_

* * *

Chapter Four

_The Shape In The Shadows_

* * *

Shock and fear seized complete control of Christine's mind, and she stumbled backwards shakily. When she did so, her foot knocked over the candle that had been her only light, and the small flame went out immediately. As a result, Christine was plunged into total darkness, and it was disorienting. Christine's eyes flickered over the entire theater, but she could see absolutely nothing. She felt blind and alone and she didn't have the first idea of what to do. There was someone in there with her, someone who might harm her, and Christine knew she had to get out, but she didn't know where she was going, or -

Christine reminded herself to breathe, and she tried harder than anything to slow her heart rate down. It was beating so quickly and loudly that Christine was sure whoever was with her would be able to hear it.

"Who is that?" she shouted in fear, emotion causing her voice to crack. "Who is there? What do you want?" Christine's voice was shrill and loud, and she hoped with all her might that someone would be able to hear it and come help her. "Reveal yourself!"

The darkness around her seemed to completely consume her, and Christine felt as if she was already dead. It was surreal, to have your eyes open yet to see nothing. She felt as if she was floating, as if she was soaring, and if fear hadn't been her primal feeling, she was sure she would have been amazed at the wonderful feeling of freedom.

_You probably imagined the voice singing_, Christine tried to convince herself soothingly. _It had sounded a lot like...him. And whoever's voice it was had known the very words you'd been about to sing - that would have been impossible. It was just your imagination. A silly dream. It's just because you're tired. Stop worrying - no one is in here with you._

And the more Christine thought about it, the more she was certain that she was alone. She felt no ethereal presence, and heard no footsteps. It was silent as a tomb, not even the swish of a cloak could be heard. And the voice had sounded like...like Erik's, and since Erik was gone, it could have been no one else. Pushing thoughts of her Angel to the back of her jumbled mind, Christine focused on what was important - figuring a way out of the theater.

Christine couldn't bear the pressing silence, so she began to hum to herself while she thought. It was a comforting tune, one she hadn't thought about in years, and it helped her concentrate so that she could get her bearings and figure out her exact location on the stage. She'd grown up in the Opera Populaire, after all, and knew the schematics like the back of her hand. If she could just close her eyes and imagine where it was she stood, Christine hoped that she would be able to just make her way back to the main entrance of the opera house, which was sure to be well-lit.

Christine bent down and felt by her feet. The floor was coarse beneath her tender fingers, and she slowly walked forward until her hands touched the cold metal that signaled the end of the stage. Christine then walked to her extreme left, and eventually, she hit the border, and she knew exactly where it was she stood - she could picture in front of her the audience clapping, and the boxes just above her and to the left, and the hallway that would lead through double doors...

But now the question remained - how was Christine going to get _off_stage? It was too high up for her to jump to the floor of the house, and there was no _way _she was going to be able to navigate her way backstage through all the new set pieces...

Christine realized how hopeless her situation was, and she sank to the floor with a heavy heart and a feeling of dread. My, how foolish she had been to come down here in the first place! Tears poured hot and many down Christine's cold cheeks, and she knew that she would have to stay in the theater until morning. Six or seven more hours...

Christine leaned her back against the wall of the border, and tried to relax. She knew she would not be able to fall back to sleep on the floor, but she had to stop crying. When she was eventually found at dawn, she didn't need to look as wretched as she felt - she was already viewed as weak and insecure, and the last thing she needed was more proof for those who thought poorly of her.

Christine knew that what she really needed in that moment was someone to talk to - someone to wipe all the hurt away and make being trapped blindly on the stage of the opera seem like a positive thing. She needed an embrace to fall into, someone who would make her feel safe and secure and loved. Christine ached for such a presence more than she had ever ached for anything in her entire life, and - figuring since she had hallucinated his voice once already - began to speak out loud to Erik. She thought maybe...maybe since she was alone, the ghost of his voice would float down to her from Heaven and speak to her.

"I...I miss you." she whispered brokenly, her voice thick with tears. Quiet though it was, Christine's voice echoed eerily. "More than anything. I made a...a mistake, but I suppose you've seen what a broken shell I've become, so you must already know that.

"I shouldn't have gone with Raoul that night, Erik! I should have stayed...my heart _wanted _to stay, but I was afraid! I was a foolish child who didn't know what she had, alright? I yearned for consistency and safety, and Raoul presented both. I - I couldn't refuse.

"You know when I realized it was you I wanted, Erik? It was as Raoul and I were leaving the catacombs in the boat. I turned around and met your eyes, and for the first time I really _saw _you, and I wanted nothing more than to go back to you, but the mob was approaching and Raoul was hurt, and I just...I don't know. None of it felt real.

"You can imagine how I...how I _regret_ not returning to you now, though." Christine didn't realize it, but she began to sob heavily once more. She was at the bottom of a hole, deep and unforgiving, and she understood in that moment that she was never going to be able to climb back out of it. Everything was falling apart, and Christine was powerless to stop it. "But I will _always _love you, because...love never dies."

Moments of deafening silence felt like hours, until finally Christine heard a strange whisper reach her ears. It simply spoke, _"...Christine..." _but it was so close that it was nearly unbelievable. The voice was filled with pain and grief and loss, and for a moment Christine wondered if it was actually human. But no, it was definitely Erik, so she knew her Angel had heard her.

Christine closed her eyes tightly and moaned. It was his voice, his beautiful heavenly voice, and it was so realistic. She could imagine his hand caressing her cheek, wiping the tears away, and she swore to herself that she _did _almost feel him doing so. She sighed in contentment and released the breath she had unconsciously been holding for the past seven months. In the blissful, however unreal moment, Christine was honestly happy.

"I knew you'd come back for me." whispered Christine, afraid of raising her voice and shattering the moment. A warm breath and slightly nervous chuckle tickled her ear.

_"I could never stay away from you long, my Angel." _his perfect voice spoke. Christine laughed a bubbly, child-like laugh.

"Stay with me." she commanded. Her mind clouded, and he was all she was aware of.

_"I don't have the strength to leave you again." _was the last thing she heard before Christine fell into unconsciousness, and sleep overpowered her will to hear his voice just one more time.

* * *

_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you want me with you, here beside you_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too_

_Christine, that's all I ask of - _

Warmth was the first thing Christine registered when she woke up. She'd dreamt of him again and - while his voice was never as perfect in her dreams as it had once been in life - it was better than nothing. Christine kept her eyes closed in the hope that she could hold on to him - for once, it had been a beautiful dream of her Angel. She'd gotten lost in the darkness and he had been there, caressing her cheek, whispering sweet nothings in her ear...it had been so _real_, and Christine knew that the moment she opened her eyes to face the light of another day, the magic would end, and he would be gone.

It pained Christine to know that none of it had been real. She vividly remembered commanding Erik to stay with her, and he'd obliged more than willingly, stating that he lacked the strength to leave her again. In that moment, Christine had felt more carefree and blissful than she had in quite a long time. She'd allowed her foolish heart to pretend that everything was going to be alright, and she was paying for it now. She couldn't open her eyes...she couldn't go on without him...

Christine curled more deeply into the layers of blankets that were wrapped around her like a cocoon, and she hoped that maybe she could fall asleep once more...just to hear his voice again would be heavenly...

But instead of sleep and dreams, the only things that came to Christine's troubled mind were memories. Memories of her early years at the Opera Populaire, memories of the life she'd known before...the life where everything had been simple and easy...the life where it was perfectly normal for her and her Angel of Music to speak and share lessons regularly. He had always been so patient and kind with her...Christine foggily remembered the first time he'd said to her that he loved her. She'd been around nine, probably, and she'd asked him if he cared for her. She remembered feeling particularly lonely that day, as Meg and Madame Giry had been out-of-town, and the other girls had been calling her names...

She'd needed to hear the words "I love you, Christine" from someone, and she must have sounded so desperate asking her Angel to tell her what she meant to him...but it had been worth it to hear the raw emotion in his usually reserved tone. She still remembered all too clearly what he'd told her: _"And yes, Christine. I love you. I've...always loved you." _

And what had Christine done for him? Denied him and betrayed him...left him and disgraced him...shunned him and abandoned him...Christine wouldn't be shocked if he even blamed her for killing him...he probably died of a broken heart.

It was as this thought was crossing her mind that Christine felt the eyes watching her sleep. Panic taking the place of peace, Christine bolted upright in bed, her eyes scanning the room around her. It was still dark, and Christine could see stars still bright in the sky outside her window. The bed next to her was still empty and unslept in - Meg had not yet returned. And the room was still and silent...except for the chair that was placed directly next to the right hand side of Christine's bed. In the darkness, Christine could just make out a tall and masculine shape sitting calmly in it, inquisitive golden eyes staring at her.

Christine peered through the dim light to try and make out the shape's features, but her efforts were to no avail. Her muscles were locked defensively, and Christine knew that she could not move even if she wanted to. But then she heard the shape speak, and suddenly, all of her self control was wittled away.

"I didn't know that you spoke in your sleep." the voice paused, but did not waver. "I'll admit to you that this is the first experience I've had watching you this way."

Christine's heart melted, and she did all that she could to hold back tears. She was sure it was a dream, but she didn't care. If Erik only existed in her dreams anymore, then all she would do was sleep. She had to be with him - that much she was sure of. Too long had she been on her own, and she couldn't handle it anymore. Deciding that she had nothing to lose, Christine tore the sheets off of her body and bolted into his arms. Erik was obviously unprepared for such an embrace, and he stayed completely still while Christine hugged and cried for him.

He felt so real. He felt so solid. He felt so _alive_. Christine held his strong shoulders for dear life, and nearly began sobbing even more when his arms finally responded and wrapped themselves around her slender form. He was holding her, he was forgiving her...

"I miss you," confessed Christine brokenly. "Oh Erik, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to kill you, I swear on my life! I love you more than anything...I just want you back!"

Erik immediately held her back at arm's length, and cupped her red and swollen cheek with his gloved hand. In the darkness, he tried to understand the emotions that played on her face, but he could not place what on earth would cause Christine to think that _she _had been the one to 'kill' him.

"Christine, what _are _you talking about?" asked Erik quietly, wiping away a few stray tears with his thumb. Christine still hiccupped with sobs as he spoke. "Even if my death had been the truth, what on earth would make you think that _you _had been the one to...?" Erik trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

Even without seeing her face clearly, Erik knew that Christine was puzzled. "Even if your death had been...the truth?" she asked roughly. "Even _if_..." she trailed off just as Erik had, realization dawning on her as she mulled over her Angel's words again and again in her mind. "I'm not...this isn't...?"

Erik chuckled a little nervously, taking a piece of Christine's hair and tucking it gently behind her ear. He had gone against everything he had ever known to not only forgive her, but to show himself to her true and whole, and to ask of her a life with him. But he'd followed her when she'd gone to the stage, he'd heard her sing, he'd _joined _her, even, and all the pieces of the great puzzle had fallen into place...she'd called out to him, and he'd known that to not respond would kill him. It seemed that the God he had for so long not believed in was giving him a second chance.

He questioned gently, "A dream? Or a nightmare?"

Christine's mouth hung open in complete and utter disbelief, and she had no idea what to say. Here was Erik, heart beating, alive within her very embrace. It was almost too much for Christine to handle, and she very nearly passed out again. But she was able to keep up a somewhat shaky grip on reality, and she told him, "I love you." That was all she could manage - the only words she could choke out.

_"Love never dies..."_ Erik sang gently, his eyes boring into Christine's. If possible, the young woman became even more shocked.

"Then all of it was real?" she questioned, the impossibility of it all depleting the size of her reaction greatly. Her tired mind wasn't able to properly conceive all that was happening around her. She was overwhelmed. "You were the shape in the shadows who sang to me? You really promised not to leave me again?"

Erik chuckled slightly again, only this time it was in an attempt to hide his own tears. Christine - though completely exhausted and emotionally drained - still loved him. And even though he was sure her reaction to his presence would not truly come until tomorrow, he still saw with clarity the blissful fervor that rested in her eyes. "I believe I made that promise several years ago to a little girl with abandonment issues." he told her tenderly. A bubble of laughter escaped from Christine's lips along with a sob.

"I remember that, too." she told him quietly. Suddenly a smile so great appeared on her face that her cheeks hurt. She said nothing, but buried her head into the crook of Erik's neck, and just sat there on his lap. Eventually, the two somehow made their way to the bed, and - in a blissful oblivion - fell asleep in each other's arms, the moon hanging brightly above them out the window in the night sky.

* * *

Christine opened her eyes just as the sun was rising. Her head was pounding, and dry tears rested on her cheek. She was exhausted and sore, and wanted nothing more than to lie in bed forever. Oh, what a dream she'd had over the duration of the night - her Erik had been there, alive and well, and had held her and forgiven her...in fact, he had held her while she had slept!

Smiling a bit to herself, Christine turned onto her side and closed her eyes again. That must have been Erik's way of telling her that he still loved her - sending her such a beautiful dream. She was sure she would regret it later...the pain of never again having such happy times with him would stab at her heart like a knife, but whatever sadness would come would be worth it. Anything was worth such a beautiful dream...

Christine reached a hand out to pull a pillow closer to her, but her fingers instead touched something delicate and soft. Confused, Christine sat up in bed and held in her hands a beautiful red rose, with a black silk ribbon tied around the stem. Attatched to the rose was a heavy piece of parchment, with a small note written on it in elegant script:

_You are so beautiful when you sleep. I have not broken my promise to you, my beautiful Angel. I will return to you before the sun is in the center of the sky. Do not worry about attending rehearsal today - believe me when I tell you that I will take care of things with those two fools who run my opera. Everything will be alright now, Christine. I love you._

_It wasn't a dream. _

It took reading it three times for the message to sink in...it wasn't a dream...it wasn't a dream...it wasn't a dream...

Christine fell back against the pillows once more as the adrenaline pumped more quickly through her veins...he was alive! Her beautiful Angel, her intelligent mentor, her loving and adoring Erik had returned to her, and all of a sudden, all the plans she had once held for herself and him that she had long since given up hope of ever having were coming back to her...

* * *

Erik had never before experienced such a peaceful night's sleep. With Christine in his arms, all had - for once - been right in the world. While Erik knew deep within his heart that Christine had been half-asleep when they'd spoken and she would surely have a different reaction to him when he returned to her, he was sure that she would somehow be happy to see him. Whether it would be in the way he wanted remained to be seen, however.

But it didn't matter. He'd made the choice to tell her the truth, and now he would just have to live with the consequences. Besides, not having him in her life had made her unhappy, and Erik would not allow his beautiful love to be unhappy because of him. For some continuously unfathomable reason she loved him, and as long as that remained true, Erik would do anything in his power to keep her happy.

That was exactly the reason he was climbing through the many secret stairwells of his opera house to the top balconies, where he had stood during the ill-fated production of _Il Muto_, during which he'd killed that worthless stagehand. His voice echoed like a ghost when he shouted from up there, and he had told Christine that he would cancel her plans for the day...

Rehearsal was already in full swing when Erik looked down upon the stage, and _everyone _was asking about Christine. Messieurs André and Firmin were in quite a fluster, and Madame Giry seemed not to even notice the absence of her own daughter (whom Erik was sure he would have to rescue from the corridors after this errand) due to the absence of the prima donna. Erik smiled to himself briefly - oh, the looks that would be on their faces when they _heard _him...

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" he called down to André and Firmin. As soon as the words left Erik's lips, everyone froze. You could have heard a pin drop in that theater! Several ballet rats gasped, and no one dared to speak. They knew...they knew that the note from two days before had been no joke. They knew the Opera Ghost was back. "It is no use searching for Miss Daae! She is required to stay in bed for the rest of the day...her _teacher _insists, Messieurs. But fear not for her safety - the _Angel of Music has her under his wing!_" Nothing like adding a line from the past just to send a shiver up their spines. Erik chuckled once more as the panic-striken cast and crew began to scream and gasp and chatter among themselves. Just as he heard someone shout _back _to him, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Erik made his way back through his secret door, and was heading to find the little blonde ballerina who was a friend to his Christine, completely unaware that a certain Vicomte had already found her, and was leading her back to her room.

* * *

**Okay, so this was mostly angst and fluff...sorry :D Personally, I _love_ a chapter like this once in a while, but I promise I won't make many more so much description and so little conversation and action - I like a good _plot _as much as the next phan :) I just really wanted to draw out Erik and Christine meeting up again! I adored writing this :) Chapter 5 should be coming out soon, and will contain some actual dialogue between Christine and Erik, and Christine will truly be able to explore her reaction to her Angel of Music suddenly _not _being dead. I spent forever trying to figure out how I wanted her to respond to his presence suddenly back in her life again, and I decided that if she was going to discover the truth when she was half asleep that she would probably just assume it was all a dream and she wouldn't really have much to say but tears and an apology. I figured Erik would just be kinda unsure of what to do and follow her lead :) So...before y'all get on here and tell me that you don't think the Christine reaction was big enough, trust me, it'll be coming next chapter. Except...probably less tears. I'm pretty sure she cried enough for a lifetime in this chapter! That being said, I hope you guys enjoyed this, and thank you so much for your continued support! Your kind words inspire me to update much more quickly than I would have without you :) If you liked the chapter, please review! I hope to have Chapter 5 out by...hm...I don't know...Thursday, possibly? Maybe earlier? :) See ya!**


	5. Come To Me, Strange Angel

_"Angel, I'm nervous." _

_"Why, Christine?" _

_"Tomorrow we begin rehearsals for the new production of _Hannibal_, and I'm finally featured." _

_"Isn't that a good thing? Surely not as grand as when you'll be this opera's prima donna, but it's a start." _

_"There are rumors that Monsieur Lefevre sold the Opera, and I'm afraid we'll be closed down." _

_"That won't happen, my dear Christine - I will make sure of it." _

_"But if it did close...if everyone left...how would I speak with you? I've never been able to talk to you outside of this opera house." _

_"That's because when you leave this place, you no longer need me." _

_"That's not true, Angel of Music. I always need you, and I think you know that." _

_"I know nothing that you do not tell me." _

_"Then you do not know that I love you? I don't believe I've ever spoken the words, but I thought they were implied." _

_"I've never been good at picking out implications." _

_"Then I am telling you now - I love you, mon ange. Always have. Nothing could change that." _

_"I don't know about that, Christine." _

_"Well, I do. And I swear to you that as long as I'm breathing, I'll always hold a place in my heart for you."_

* * *

Chapter Five

_Come To Me, Strange Angel_

* * *

Christine must have re-read the note which Erik had written her at least five times more. The words upon the parchment were the most beautiful and magical she had ever seen, and were the very words that she had longed to hear from her Angel since returning to the Opera Populaire. He would return to her, to her very _room, _before the sun reached the center point in the sky. Quickly, Christine's blood-shot eyes darted back to her window, and she realized with a jolt that noontime was not as far off as she had anticipated. How long had she simply been sitting there, thinking of him? She was sure the last time she had glanced at the morning sky, the sun had only just begun to rise...

Sighing, Christine removed the tangled sheets from her body, and shivered when the cool September draft hit the parts of her skin which were exposed. Christine realized that she and Meg would soon have to invest in thicker curtains - their room was sure to only become colder as the months progressed into winter.

Christine immediately removed the rose and the note from her bed, and placed them gently and with all the care in the world into her bedside table; she didn't need Meg to see them before Christine could explain them. As it was, she wasn't sure how she was going to be able to explain any of the things that had occurred within the past twenty-four hours to anyone. Thoughts of Erik's return whirred through Christine's mind as she went to her wardrobe and began to lightly flick through the garments within. She found herself selecting her gown for the day based not on what would be comfortable, but on what Erik would like to see her in. She remembered that he always used to compliment her on days that she wore green; he would always claim that the color made her look even more radiant. Selecting the only green dress she had left from within her collection, Christine felt a small smile slip onto her face. She could only imagine her Angel's smile when he saw her again...

Christine was suddenly quite impatient to see her Angel again, and she ran to get changed more quickly than she ever had before. She was just selecting a pair of earrings to wear when she heard her bedroom door begin to open. Her heart stopped; had Erik returned so quickly? Was he back already?

But no, it was not Erik who had entered the room. It was Meg, who wore a bright smile on her face. Christine instantly felt guilt wash over her; here was her best friend, whom she had not known the location of for more than twelve hours, and Christine had been so self-indulged that she had barely paid her disappearance any mind! But just before Christine could begin an apology, she noticed the man who had followed Meg into the room.

"Raoul?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?" she did not ask the question impolitely, just rather bluntly. Meg seemed not to have heard her, as she went immediately to her bed without saying a word. Raoul gave Christine a kind smile.

"I found the young Miss Giry wandering the corridors upstairs." he explained, his dark eyes flickering for a moment to the young ballerina. "I figured I would bring her back to her room, as any gentleman would have."

"And I thank you for it." said Christine earnestly. "But what were _you _doing in the upstairs corridors, might I ask? There's nothing there that would interest you, Raoul, I swear it."

A small flush of color infiltrated Raoul's cheeks, and he could not meet Christine's eyes when he next spoke. That was how Christine knew that what he said was very far from the truth. "Nothing at all - as patron, I felt it my duty to know every nook and cranny of this opera house. I was simply giving myself a tour."

Christine's eyes narrowed, and she ceased her search for a pair of earrings. She walked to Raoul, until she was close enough to him to feel his breath on her face when he inhaled. "This place is filled with _ghosts_, Raoul." she warned. "Think of this as some friendly advice; don't go wandering places where you might be found by someone who could be less than friendly."

Confusion was replaced by shock in Raoul's eyes, but he did well not to show the new emotion on his face. His voice was flat when he asked Christine, "And who _here _could have an ill-will for me, Miss Daae?"

Christine shrugged, and tried her best to look nonchalant. She knew in her heart of hearts that if Raoul had been found by Erik, her Angel may not have been so merciful to him a second time. "I could not say, _Monsieur_. Just remember the rule about wandering alone in this place."

"Oh? And what is that?" asked Raoul with mild amusement.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." said Christine simply. Now, shock was replaced by fury in Raoul, and the Vicomte walked out of the room without another word. Christine turned to face Meg, whose happy expression had been wiped away by both confusion and sadness.

"What was that about?" asked Meg glumly, her eyes flickering to her lap. "He didn't even say goodbye."

Christine was surprised that Meg had been affected in the least by Raoul's impolite way of storming out. She seemed more disappointed than a normal ballerina would be whose patron had not said goodbye; Meg seemed like she was genuinely hurt by Raoul's actions.

"I don't know." said Christine, having a seat by Meg on her bed. "Perhaps he's just...tired."

"But what were the two of you talking about?" asked Meg, her eyes boring into Christine's. "Why would you scare him so? You must know the raw feelings he still has about...oh, nevermind." Meg looked away guiltily, probably feeling bad about bringing Christine's Angel up in front of her when she must have still been so sad by his absence. Oh, if only Meg knew how things had changed...

"About Erik." said Christine clearly. Meg's attention snapped back up to Christine. "I know that, and I just wanted to prepare Raoul not to go wandering alone. I fear that if my Angel had found him, he would not have been so merciful a second time. I do care for Raoul as a friend, and I wouldn't want him to be hurt because of his foolishness."

Meg gaped at Christine, her mouth open in shock and her eyebrows knitted together in a look of disbelief. "Christine, whatever are you talking about?"

Christine would have to tell her; surely she would see him when he came to the room in search of Christine? And Christine wouldn't want Meg to think that she had withheld the truth from her. She opened her mouth to explain -

"I went to the corridors to retrieve you, girl." came a sudden voice from the doorway. Though her back was to him, Christine knew it was Erik. Meg's gaze went slightly above Christine's head, and her eyes became the size of saucers when she saw him. "But it seemed the _Vicomte_ was more than capable. Not that he would have been up there to find you at all if it hadn't been for his incessant need to find _me_."

"C-Christine." stammered Meg, her face growing a sickly shade of white. "D-Do you hear that? Or am I going mad?"

Christine chuckled softly to herself for a moment and closed her eyes in wonder. It was still so surreal for him to just appear out of thin air once more; for so long she had been used to his absence, now he was back, and she didn't know how to contain her joy.

"You're perfectly sane, Meg." assured Christine after a minute, opening her eyes to show them filled with mirth. "I hear him, too."

"B-But how..." Meg - for once - seemed to be at a complete loss for words.

Christine turned to Erik then, and she realized that seeing him in the daylight was so much more powerful than seeing him at night. He was just as she had remembered him to be; just as beautiful, just as wonderful...he was still dressed all in black, with a white mask covering the deformed half of his face. The difference now, however, was that Christine no longer feared what was beneath the cover.

"Why would he go looking for you?" Christine asked Erik simply, containing the urge to hurdle herself into his arms and feel that he was as real as he looked. A half-smile appeared on her Angel's face, but he remained still.

"He does not believe me as dead as you did, my dear." replied Erik. "He fears my imminent return more than anyone else in this opera house, believe me. I fear that our last encounter did nothing for his..._confidence_ in mankind.

"Miss Giry," continued Erik, never taking his eyes from Christine's. "Leave us for a moment. And say nothing of this to your mother, please? I shall tell her in my own time. But I need to speak with Miss Daae alone."

The polite tone of voice that Erik used unsettled Meg, and she hesitantly left the room in fear, looking back at Christine in concern several times. Christine was completely transfixed by Erik's presence, however, and barely noticed her friend's departure.

As soon as Meg had shut the door, Christine began to speak. "It was not a dream." she said in wonder.

"I told you it was not." defended Erik gently, staying near the room's exit. He made no move to come near Christine, but showed her with his joy-filled eyes that he was not unhappy to see her.

"I still feared." said Christine, deciding that she would go to her Angel of Music first, if he was going to stubbornly stay away from her. Too long she had been without him, she could not stand it another moment. She eagerly removed herself once more from her bed and ran into his arms. "You were gone for months, mon ange. Is it hard to believe that I would be afraid your sudden reappearance was nothing more than a dream?"

Erik accepted Christine into his embrace, and began to gently run his fingers through her long auburn curls. What a feeling it was to have her in his arms, to have her love fill his lonely spirit. Here she was, of her own free will, touching him and _wanting _to be near him. No ultimatums, no threats...just a woman and a man...no more, and yet no less.

"We need to talk," murmured Erik softly, trying not to ruin the moment. But he had to hear from Christine what she wanted, now that she was coherent. He had to know for certain that she knew what kind of life she was getting herself into if she was truly going to choose him over that Vicomte.

"I know," sighed Christine, never wanting to move from where she stood. She could have stayed like that forever and been content. "But I'm happy to just stay here with you forever."

"Are you?" asked Erik, the question coming out a bit harsher than he had intended. He had decided that from now on he would try to keep his natural anger in check around Christine, but some habits did not go away so quickly. "Because I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into, Christine. It's not too late, you know - now that you know for certain I am not dead, you've no reason to feel guilty, and I'm _sure _it's not too late for the _Vicomte _to take you back."

"I don't want Raoul!" assured Christine quickly and breathlessly, holding onto Erik all the more tightly. "I want _you_, my Angel. I love _you_. Did I not tell you so a hundred times last night?"

"You were tired."

Christine chuckled without humour - how stubborn this man could be! "Erik, I beg you to believe me. I love you...I was not delirious enough last night to lie to you."

"I beg to differ." chuckled Erik slightly, taking hold of his anger and pushing it back considerably. His body relaxed against Christine's, and he felt more at peace than he ever had before. "You thought you were dreaming of me three different times."

"Self-defense." explained Christine simply. "My heart didn't want to be hurt again when you weren't really there."

"I never intended to hurt you." swore Erik with conviction. He gently took Christine by the arm and led her to the bed. They sat together, basking in each others' presence. "I only lied about my death so that I could figure out my next course of action without fear of another mob ransacking my home."

"You couldn't have told me?" asked Christine heart-brokenly, the emptiness she had experienced for so long suddenly returning to her mind. "You were always watching me, weren't you? Didn't you see how much I needed you?"

"I did not see you once until you returned to this opera house." said Erik flatly. "I thought you were Countess de Chagny by then, and I had no wish to see him possessively take you under _his _wing...loving you...your abdomen swelling bearing _his _children...I had given up all hope of ever seeing you again."

"Oh, _Angel_..." moaned Christine softly, her heart shattering at the thought of the pain Erik must have gone through. "I could _never_..."

"I know that now." assured Erik. "But I just want to make sure that you know...a life with me will not be a safe and constant thing, Christine. You will always be plunging into uncertainty. Your life will exist within the _night_."

"I know." smiled Christine, cupping Erik's cheek with her soft and warm hand. The feel of her skin against his was an experience that surpassed anything Erik had ever known in his entire life. "And that is all I want, Erik. Because I _love_ you."

* * *

Meg's tired body and clouded mind did not stop her from running as fast as she could to her mother's room. She darted quickly past frazzled people, not even stopping to apologize. She was frightened half to death; the Phantom of the Opera was dead, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

_Then why is he in my room?! _screeched Meg's mind. She was horribly scared; what if it was someone _pretending _to be Erik, who had only come to hurt Christine? Or what if Erik had returned from the grave, and was now a ghost seeking vengeance against the opera house? Or what if Erik had never _died_? Why did he lie for so long?

Meg knew that her mother was the only one who could answer these questions. She knew Erik quite well...perhaps not as well as Christine did, but Madame Giry would be able to analyze Erik's actions and motives from an unbiased point of view.

Meg blinked furiously as unshed tears of panic sprung to her crystal blue eyes, and she did not see when she ran directly into someone. As with everyone else she did not stop to apologize, but the figure would not let her leave without having a word with her. They grabbed her shoulders, effectively stopping her, and Meg stared up into the gaze of the Vicomte de Chagny.

"Meg?" he questioned curiously, lightly brushing her windswept hair from her eyes. If Meg hadn't been so preoccupied about getting to her mother, she was sure she would have shivered at his touch. "I just delivered you back to your room; what on earth are you doing?"

"Monsieur, let me go!" said Meg quickly, trying to pull herself from Raoul's grasp. He would not budge. "I must go see my mother _immediately_!"

"Is something the matter, Mademoiselle?" asked Raoul with care, his eyes boring into Meg's. "Please tell me, so that I can find some way to help you."

"There is nothing you can do!" insisted Meg quickly, wanting the conversation to be over. "Please, Monsieur Vicomte - "

"Raoul."

"Please, Raoul," began Meg again, secretly enjoying the way his name sounded on her lips. "Let me go find my mother. If there was anything you could do to help Christine then _I _would be the first one to tell you, but there isn't. Only my mother can -"

"Christine?" asked Raoul, becoming all the more puzzled. "What does Christine have to do with -"

And that's when it seemed to dawn on Raoul; the reason that everyone around the opera was so frightened, the reason that Meg was running so quickly, the reason Christine had warned him not to wander...

_"It's him_, isn't it?" Raoul hissed venomously, hatred seizing full control of his mind. In his distraction, Meg was able to pull herself from his grasp.

"I must go now." she said quietly. "Please don't follow me, and don't go looking for Christine. Just...just go home, Raoul, and live another day."

* * *

Monsieur André sat as still as a statue at his desk, beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. His breathing was hitched, and his palms were shaking with fear. His eyes stared before him at the finished score of _Don Juan_. The leather binding was deceitfully beautiful, so beautiful that it could have fooled anyone into thinking that its contents were equally as brilliant. But the opera was cursed, and André had spent the past two hours trying to come up with a way of getting out of performing it again.

The burnt shreds of _Il Muto_ still rested in the waste basket by André's desk, irreparable. The Opera Populaire re-opened for its début performance in just a few short days, and every seat in the theater was sold out. The public was buzzing with gossip about Christine and the Phantom and the performances that were said to be getting ready. André knew that there was absolutely no conceivable way that they could prolong their opening or find a new selection in time; _Don Juan _was the only score they had left, and most of the dancers had performed it before. Well, _once _before...

André shivered at the memory. This was surely all the Opera Ghost's doing! He had been the one to burn the compositions of _Il Muto_, he had been the cause of every single misfortune ever to strike the opera house!

It felt as though history were repeating itself once more; perhaps this time, however, André and his dear friend, Firmin, would learn from their earlier mistakes and finally succeed in taking back sole control of _their _grand Opera Populaire.

* * *

The next morning, Christine found herself awake several minutes before the sun was set to rise. Her eyes flicked over to Meg's bed, which was empty. She sighed sadly; ever since Erik had revealed himself to the younger girl just twelve short hours before, Meg had been gone. Christine could only assume that she was with her mother; that idea made the most sense.

Christine could only hope that she would see Meg during that morning's rehearsal; she felt as though she and her friend needed to have a serious talk. Things around the opera were already about to become complicated enough, what with the return of Erik and the newfound 'curiosity' of Raoul. Christine _needed_ a source of consistency in her life, and she felt that little Meg could be just that. She couldn't have Meg running off in fear every time she saw Erik; Christine needed both her best friend _and _her Angel of Music in her life.

Dressing for the day earlier than necessary, Christine let her mind wander.

_Little Lotte, let her mind wander._

Christine thought of Raoul. She thought of the way that Raoul had refused to speak with her of his intentions in exploring the upstairs corridors. She thought of the way that he would surely hunt Erik down when he discovered that he lived.

_Little Lotte thought, am I fonder dolls or of goblins or of shoes?_

While it was true Raoul may have mended his broken heart, he still cared for Christine. Christine knew that he would not pressure her into being in a relationship with him again, but if he found out that Erik lived, there was no way he was going to stop trying to get her away from him. Even if all Raoul felt towards Christine anymore was friendship, he was going to do everything in his power to stop his _friend _from once again being 'hypnotized' by a murderer. Because in truth, that was all Raoul saw in Erik - a murderer. In fact, Raoul probably thought that the only reason Christine didn't want him anymore was because she was still under the Phantom's _spell_. Christine knew for a _fact _that if she went to Raoul at that moment, and begged him to take her back, he would. Raoul was just like that.

"Well Raoul," Christine spoke softly, more to herself than anyone else. "You know the truth of it all, I suppose, if you still think of me as your 'Little Lotte'. For what I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the _Angel of Music _sings songs in my head."

"I could not have spoken the words any better." came a voice from the shadows. Christine did not even flinch at the sudden appearance of her Angel; she was already becoming used to his appearing out of thin air once more.

"He's going to come after you." said Christine knowingly, turning around to come face to face with Erik. In response to her words, Erik chuckled.

"He won't succeed in doing anything to harm me." said Erik in a tone of voice that left absolutely no room for argument. He gently caressed Christine's cheek with a gloved hand as he continued, tenderness and conviction coming together to create the most beautiful mixture ever to reach Christine's ears. "That _insolent _boy is not going to be able to do any more physical damage than he did to me the first time."

"The first time, _you _nearly killed him with your 'magical lasso'." said Christine, arching an eyebrow. Her Angel smiled coyly.

"Exactly." he said. He took Christine by the arm, then, and began to lead her towards the door. By that time, the sun was just beginning to light the streets of Paris. "May I have the pleasure of escorting you to rehearsal?"

"Aren't you afraid of being seen?" asked Christine curiously. Again, her Erik smiled. She found him doing so more and more often as of late, and she found that she adored the sight of it.

"I will not be seen unless I _wish _to be seen. Besides, I have a surprise for you. I only wish that I could be next to you when you see it."

Now Christine was _quite _curious, and she allowed herself to be led as far as the stage door with Erik by her side. It was then that he told her with a heavy sigh that he would have to disappear. Christine nodded in understanding, comforting herself with the thought that Erik would be watching her the entire time she rehearsed. With a newfound strength, Christine opened the door that took her backstage only to find that nearly _every _prop used in _Il Muto _was gone. They were replaced, instead, by props that were not only dark and Hispanic looking, but also familiar.

The stage hands and ballet rats were running around madly, trying on dusty costumes that had not been thought about for months and building completely new set pieces. They must have been at work for _hours _to achieve all that they had in such a short amount of time. From beyond the stage, Christine could hear the maestro rehearsing long-forgotten tunes with his orchestra. Completely oblivious about what on earth was going on, Christine stopped one of the stage hands mid-trek.

"Monsieur?" she asked carefully. "What is going on here?"

But instead of answering her, the stage hand simply sighed a breath of relief, and called out to anyone who would listen, "Ah, we've got her, everyone! Aminta _is _backstage! Someone costume her!"

Immediately, two seamstresses grabbed Christine by her arms, and led her out to center-stage, where a million things were happening at once. The skeleton of a fire pit was being built not five feet away from where Christine stood, and a bridge was being constructed twenty feet above her head. There were several stations scattered across the stage, all with women sewing dresses and flowers and breeches with haste.

Finally, Christine spotted Monsieur André pacing nervously about, and she called to him with concern. The older man looked up at the sound of her voice, and walked quickly to where she stood.

"Yes, Miss Daae, what is it?" he asked somewhat impatiently.

"Monsieur André, what _is _going on here? Why has the set for _Il Muto_ been deconstructed?" Christine asked. André gaped at her.

"You didn't _hear_?" he asked in amazement. Christine shook her head. "Why, my _dear_, dear prima donna, we were paid a visit yesterday by the - the _Opera Ghost! _He said that he would not allow you to come to rehearsal, and we were all sick with worry, I assure you!"

Christine nodded like she understood, but she thought to herself that if anyone had been _truly _worried about her, then they surely would have sought her out.

"But then, I returned to my office only to find our two copies of the _Il Muto _scores burned beyond recognition! They were not able to be saved, and we searched the _catacombs _of this wretched theater for something else we could perform, but the only opera we had left was...was that God forsaken _Don Juan!_ And we never wanted to put it on, believe me Mademoiselle, but the Opera Populaire's grand re-opening is in just a few short days, and every seat is _sold_, and we can't refund that many people with the low funds that we have _now_. And at least most of the dancers have put this on before, you know?

"I know it's a lot to ask of you, for surely this opera brings back many traumatizing memories for you, Miss Daae. But I'm afraid we have no choice." Monsieur André said his monologue so quickly that Christine almost missed his words. He seemed completely fearful of his young prima donna's reaction, and she pretended after a moment to be troubled by the thought of reviving her role as Aminta. In reality, however, she was pleased to be performing her Angel's work once more, and she was greatly impressed by his surprise.

"Oh, Monsieur..." she sighed heavily, fanning herself with her hand. She was really playing it up, but she found herself rather enjoying the small deceit. "Why, I just don't _know_ if I'll be able to manage!"

"Oh, please, beautiful prima donna! I beg of you, do not abandon us now! Ask anything of us, and it shall be yours!" insisted a flustered André, who was beginning to turn red in the face. Christine decided in that moment to put him out of his misery.

"Well, Monsieur...if my managers command." Christine smirked slightly, remembering La Carlotta's favorite 'giving in' phrase, and she was sure that wherever her Angel was hiding, he was laughing with her.

* * *

**Okay, so I'll just come out and admit it - this was kind of a filler chapter. But it _was _fun to write, and I'm proud of it :) I realize that there hasn't been a lot of conversation in a while, so I tried to find a nice balance between detail and dialogue. I know that I hate it when a fic is lengthy simply because it goes into describing every single little thing to the point where you're skipping entire paragraphs, but I _also _know that I hate it when _all _a fic is is dialogue to the point where you're tired of reading people talk. So I hope I achieved my goal of a medium here :) I would like to send a personal thank-you (and virtual red rose with a black silk ribbon tied around it) to all of my wonderful reviewers and your continued support - as I've said before, reading your beautiful comments make my day and inspire my writing :) Sorry this chapter was a bit late, but I hope it was worth it - this is the longest one yet! Now that I've got all the characters where I want them, the _fun _can soon begin! Chapter 6 should hopefully come out within this coming week, so stay tuned everyone! Thanks again!**


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